


eternal peace is overrated

by BabyVillanelle



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - The Umbrella Academy, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Found Family, Ghost Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Superheroes, chan is ben, chan is dead but its okay he's a ghost, i don't consider it incest but i am tagging just in case!, soonyoung is klaus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyVillanelle/pseuds/BabyVillanelle
Summary: He can’t remember a time before Chan because there was no time before Chan. Soonyoung and his father’s other experiments were all born on the same day.He’s been following Chan around since he could walk. Seungcheol used to tease him for it, used to claim that the only way Soonyoung had learned how to walk at all was by holding on to the back of Chan’s shirt, toddling along behind him.Soonyoung believes it.It must be some kind of sick cosmic joke that Chan is the one following him now. He wonders, sometimes, if Chan hates him for it. If Chan would rather be somewhere else, wherever it is that people go when they die. Heaven or hell or purgatory or nowhere.Soonyoung’s too selfish to ask.
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 19
Kudos: 110





	eternal peace is overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is based on The Umbrella Academy, but I think it can be read without too much prior knowledge of the show. If you haven't seen it, all you need to know is Soonyoung and Chan are two of a group of kids with superpowers who were adopted by a man who wanted to form a crime fighting team and stop the apocalypse. I took some liberties with the plot but the most important one is this: on the show, the kids think of each other as siblings. In my work, they don't!

Soonyoung wakes up with a splitting headache and Chan at the foot of his bed, staring at him reproachfully.

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, and Chan laughs. He doesn’t have to say it.

_I would if I could._

“Get me some water,” Soonyoung says, rolling over onto his stomach, and pointing vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.

“Oh sure!” Chan climbs off the bed, walking purposefully over to the sink. Soonyoung watches the movement of his thighs under his skinny jeans because he’s a depraved fuck and also he literally cannot move his head to look in another direction.

Chan’s hand passes through the faucet, once, twice, three times, before he looks back up at Soonyoung with mock dismay.

“Worth a shot,” Soonyoung mumbles, his cheeks squished against his pillow.

“You’re an asshole,” Chan says simply, but there’s no real force behind it. It’s okay, Soonyoung knows. He’s always been an asshole. It’s one of the universally agreed upon truths in their family; Chan is dead, and Soonyoung is an asshole.

Soonyoung groans as he rolls himself out of bed and onto the hardwood floor. He lands on all fours, like a cat, and arches his aching back. Something makes a satisfying _pop_ and he groans in relief.

He doesn’t remember how he got home last night. He remembers being at some guy’s apartment, remembers getting fucked, some faceless stranger pounding into him over and over and over again while Chan watched from the corner, his arms crossed and his face dark and expressionless.

Soonyoung flops over onto his back, stares up at Chan.

“You’re a _pervert_ ,” he says with a stupid grin, pointing a finger lazily at Chan, who grimaces.

“Get up, Soonyoung,” he says. Soonyoung shakes his head back and forth, his brain sloshing around in his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to make the room stay still around him. He feels around in his pockets for any leftover pills, anything he might have overlooked.

His eyes still closed, he hears Chan sigh.

“You took some from Matthew, they’re in your coat,” he says, and Soonyoung opens one eye.

“Who the _fuck_ is Matthew?” he says, crawling over to where he’d dropped his jacket last night and searching through the pockets. Chan scoffs.

“The guy? From last night? He was like ten feet tall.”

“Oooo,” Soonyoung says, swallowing the pills dry, wiggling his eyebrows at Chan, “Yes, I remember now.”

Chan keeps his jaw clenched, but Soonyoung thinks his cheeks color, just a bit.

Can ghosts blush?

The awful truth is that sometimes, Soonyoung can’t figure out if Chan is real.

The line between what is “real” and what is “not real” has always been a little blurry for Soonyoung, anyway. How do you define “real” in concrete terms when your reality has always involved having a robot for a mother and a brother who can time travel?

Before Chan died, he had been the strongest of their father’s adopted “children”, the golden boy of the Umbrella Academy, the point on which all of their plans of attack had centered. Soonyoung’s ability had felt ludicrous next to Chan’s. Chan could turn into a huge, tentacled monster, and Soonyoung could…what? See dead people?

There are days when Soonyoung is convinced that it’s all in his head, that he’s just as powerless as Jeongyeon. That his father's other children got to be superheroes and all he got was… (cue jazz hands) … _schizophrenia_! 

The conclusion he usually comes to is that when you get right down to it, it doesn’t matter if the things he can see are real or not.

He can still see them.

Right now, for example, there’s a long-limbed man, missing half of his skull, pacing in front of one of the windows and moaning.

He’s been there, off and on, since Soonyoung was four. The first time he’d seen him, he’d run to Chan’s room, screaming, hidden under the covers with his hands over his eyes, Chan’s chubby baby arms around him.

It had happened so often after that that Chan had taken to calling him “Mister Spooky”. That had made it easier, a little, giving him a name, making it into a joke. Soonyoung would crawl into Chan’s bed and Chan would just yawn, ask him if he’d seen Mr. Spooky again, and Soonyoung would nod, his face pressed into Chan’s neck.

And of course, there’s Chan.

There has always been Chan.

He can’t remember a time before Chan because there _was_ no time before Chan. Soonyoung and his father’s other experiments were all born on the same day.

He’s been following Chan around since he could walk. Seungcheol used to tease him for it, used to claim that the only way Soonyoung had learned how to walk at all was by holding on to the back of Chan’s shirt, toddling along behind him.

Soonyoung believes it.

It must be some kind of sick cosmic joke that Chan is the one following him now. He wonders, sometimes, if Chan hates him for it. If Chan would rather be somewhere else, wherever it is that people go when they die. Heaven or hell or purgatory or nowhere.

Soonyoung’s too selfish to ask.

Mr. Spooky is fading away now, going from solid to blurry to nothing. The drugs must be kicking in. Soonyoung lets his head loll backwards, smiling goofily up at Chan. He wants Chan to reach down, ruffle his hair like he always used to, wants to crawl into Chan’s lap and rub their cheeks together, make him whine and complain and shove Soonyoung away.

Chan doesn’t do any of those things, because he can’t. Not anymore. Not for years now. Even though Chan died at fifteen, he’s grown up alongside the rest of them. He looks like the twenty-five-year-old man he will never get to be.

* * *

The world is ending.

That’s what Vernon says, anyway. Vernon, who had been missing for seventeen years. Vernon, who showed up the day of their dad’s funeral, looking exactly like he had when he’d disappeared. He’s still in his goddamn uniform, pleated shorts and all.

Seungcheol keeps calling family meetings about it, about how to stop the apocalypse. They’re all so _serious_ about it all. Jihoon stalks back and forth at the far end of their basement kitchen, flipping one of his knives around in his hands and shooting down every single one of Seungcheol’s ideas.

“Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung’s head is fuzzy, floaty, and he’s having a hard time focusing on anything. He’s also having a hard time not laughing at the serious look on Vernon’s little-kid face. Chan’s sitting cross-legged on the counter, just behind where Seungcheol is towering over the foot of the table.

“Soonyoung!”

There’s a bang, and Soonyoung snaps to attention. His eyes go wide as they finally focus on something, on Sana’s face, on her hands, flat on the wood of the table.

“Yes?” he says, trying to arrange his face into a look that says, _I am listening. I care about the words you are saying to me._

“Do you have anything to contribute?”

“Nope!” he says, pushing himself back from the table and standing. He sees the exasperation on Sana’s face, like she’s too tired to even get mad at him. 

He doesn’t blame her. He’s exhausting. He knows that better than anyone. He wanders over to the cabinets behind where Jihoon is pacing, opening and closing doors until he finds the vodka he’d stashed there the night before. He pulls out the bottle and brandishes it flamboyantly.

“ _Soonyoung._ ”

Chan says his name differently than the rest of them do. He says it _angry_ , he says it _mean._

Soonyoung raises his bottle in a toast to the boy that nobody else can see, pulls the stopper out with his mouth, and chugs it.

* * *

He stops going to the family meetings, and nobody says anything about it.

That’s fine by him. He didn’t really give a shit anyway. If the world wants to end, they might as well let it. Who are they to get in the way of the apocalypse?

Then he gets fucking kidnapped.

Two big assholes had come looking for Vernon, found him instead, and now he’s shirtless, bleeding, and tied to a chair in a shitty motel room. They’d tortured him for hours, and he’d done what he does best: irritated them until they gave up and went away. Probably not forever. Most likely they’ll be back within the next hour, ready to punch Soonyoung in the face again. Fantastic.

He’s singing to himself, some shitty song he heard on the radio that he can’t get out of his head.

“Hey.” It’s Chan, kneeling in front of him, his eyes sharp and full of concern, “Soonyoung. You okay?”

He’s so close, Soonyoung could count his eyelashes, and for a second he swears he can smell his cologne, that expensive Tom Ford shit he used to keep in their shared bathroom. Clove and cedar. Flannel sheets, warm from the dryer.

But that’s not possible.

God, his head hurts. His whole fucking _body_ hurts, actually.

“Channie,” Soonyoung sighs, smiling lopsidedly. Chan’s face relaxes slightly.

The last few hours were a blur. One or two things stick out, mainly Chan, yelling in the kidnapper’s faces, things like _YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!_ and _LEAVE HIM ALONE!_ They couldn’t hear him, of course, and went right on torturing Soonyoung like they had been before. But still, the gesture of it had been nice.

He’s also pretty sure one of his ribs is cracked. He can feel it now, a dull throb in his chest, getting more insistent as his drugs wear off. There are faces hovering around the edges of his blurred vision, grey and distorted. He can hear their groans starting in a slow rumble, a train in the distance.

“I thought you were dead,” Chan says, straightening up. Now Soonyoung has to tilt his head back to look at his face.

“You wouldn’t be here if I was,” Soonyoung says, his voice low and serious. He strains against the ropes and pain _explodes_ all along his left side. He gasps from the shock of it.

“You’re sobering up,” Chan reports, blandly. Soonyoung chuckles.

“Yeah?” he says, and _fuck,_ even his eyelids hurt. How is that possible? “No, shit.” 

“I think it’s good,” Chan says, face half-turned away from Soonyoung.

Chan has this _theory_ that Soonyoung can learn to control his powers, can keep the dead away, can learn how to make them stronger, use them to fight somehow. If only he would just get sober. He’s spent more than a few nights recently, sitting up in bed next to Soonyoung, talking to him about it, urging him to stop using, explaining how it could save the world. How he’d be a hero _,_ change the future _._

It’s so painfully Chan, to see the world that way, all superheroes and brave deeds. He’s always had that drive, that shine, that Soonyoung never has. Soonyoung thinks, not for the first time, that if he had to do his life over, he’d cast Chan in the leading role, instead of him.

* * *

Jihoon rescues him, bursting through the locked door with one well-placed kick above the doorhandle. He rolls his eyes when he sees Soonyoung, shirtless and tied down, like he’s disappointed that Soonyoung hasn’t chewed himself free.

Jihoon cuts the ropes off of him carefully. Inspects him for any severe injuries. He seems to deem Soonyoung fit for travel, because he reaches out a hand and helps him to his feet. Soonyoung’s legs, at least, seem to be uninjured.

The dead are closer now, one right behind Jihoon, mirroring his every movement, every facial expression. Soonyoung tries not to look at it, to only look at Jihoon’s face. Stay focused. He can do that. Just for a little longer. He can make them go away again. Just a little longer.

“You got anything to drink in the car?”

Jihoon stares at him, his jaw locked tight, then sighs and shakes his head.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“So that’s a no then?”

* * *

Jihoon forces him back to the house, and Seungcheol refuses to let him leave again.

He’s been sober for thirty-six hours and twenty-two minutes, the longest stretch since he was fourteen. He’s slowly banging his head back against the headboard of his old twin-sized bed, watching Mr. Spooky pace back and forth in front of his window.

The pain in his ribs is constant and acute, and there’s nothing in this house stronger than ibuprofen. He’s checked. And the last time he tried to leave Seungcheol had punched him in the side of the head and knocked him out cold for an hour. Which certainly didn’t help his headache, but the message was clear. Soonyoung was stuck here.

There’s a summer storm brewing. Soonyoung can see the clouds gathering at the horizon, moving fast. He wonders if this is how the end will be, if it will be flooded, Biblical. Chan is standing in the doorway, head angled so he can hear the conversation happening at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Vernon says it’s tomorrow,” Chan reports. His face looks downright morbid. Soonyoung giggles, “What part of that is funny to you? The end of the human race? Or the death of everyone we care about?”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung says, rolling his head back and forth against the wooden headboard. The pressure feels nice on his scalp, “Sorry. It’s just. You’re already dead. Why do you care?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do!” Chan shouts, stepping away from the doorframe and coming to stand in the center of the room, a better location from which to scream at Soonyoung. Fantastic.

“Please. _Please_ ,” Soonyoung says, his eyes squeezing shut, “Explain to me why I should give a shit?”

That, at least, seems to have shocked Chan into silence. Soonyoung can hear the rain start on the roof, gentle at first and then heavy, coming down in sheets as the wind blows it. The clouds are directly overhead now, making the room dark.

“Besides,” Soonyoung continues. His voice is cracking, and he’s too tired for jokes, “Even if I did want to help, they don’t want me. They know I’m useless.” 

“You’re not useless, Soonyoung, you’re just lazy,” Chan says, cold and cruel, “Who knows what you’d be capable of if you’d just stop getting high all the time and fucking TRY for a minute!” Chan’s tone is grating, and Soonyoung feels like an exposed nerve. He brings his hands up, cups the back of his head above his ears, “Our family is down there trying to save the world and you’re up here sulking because you’re too goddamn selfish to do anything about it!”

Chan’s crawled onto the bed now, he’s kneeling over Soonyoung and screaming in his face. It’s impossible to shut him out and Soonyoung would be able to think, to say something, if Chan would just give him a second.

“That’s what you are, Soonyoung, _selfish_ ,” Chan shouts, because he can’t do anything else, “You’re selfish and you’re –“

Soonyoung shoves him, and his hands connect. Chan is solid, beautifully, blissfully solid under his hands for a moment, and then he’s rolling backwards on the bed.

Blue lightning flashes outside the window, lighting up Soonyoung’s attic room, making everything look two-dimensional for a split second.

Soonyoung sits up on his knees, his brain taking a second to catch up. He looks down at Chan, sprawled back on his elbows, and they stare at each other, mouths open and eyes wide with shock.

“You touched me,” Chan says hoarsely. He’s looking at Soonyoung like he used to when they were teenagers, and Soonyoung was making Chan laugh with some story he’d made up, saying extra crazy shit just to see Chan’s reaction. He’s looking at Soonyoung like he’s wonderful.

“Holy shit,” Soonyoung says, looking down at his hands, “You were right, I should-“

“You _touched_ me,” Chan repeats mechanically.

“I know, Chan, Chan, you were _right_ ,” Soonyoung says, “I have to- I have to tell the others.”

“No,” Chan’s shaking his head, scrambling up to kneel in front of Soonyoung on the bed, so they’re almost eye level, “Don’t leave.”

Soonyoung’s reeling. And Chan’s not making any sense.

“Uhh, dummy, the apocalypse?” Soonyoung says, “The world is ending tomorrow.”

"Who fucking cares, Soonyoung,” Chan says, wild, “Do it again.”

“What?”

“You. Touched me.” Chan spells out, and Soonyoung watches his mouth, “Do it. Again.”

The wind blows outside, rattling the windowpanes, shifting the wood of the old house. He can’t tell if it’s apocalyptic. It certainly feels like it, to Soonyoung.

He’s not sure how he did it the first time, but Chan is there in front of him, _his_ Chan, and his eyes are big and pleading and Soonyoung still can’t say no to him. He takes a deep breath, focusing wholly on Chan.

He can smell him now, actually smell him, he’s sure of it. He reaches his hand up and presses it against the center of Chan’s chest. Chan’s solid, distinctly not-ghostly chest. He can feel Chan’s breath, coming in quick bursts, his ribcage rising and falling under Soonyoung’s palm.

He looks into Chan’s face, and they smile breathlessly at each other. Soonyoung starts to giggle, and then Chan does too, a chain reaction.

Chan kisses him.

He’s not ready for it, but that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Chan is here, is really, actually here and tangible, falling forwards. Soonyoung catches him, holds him against his own body like he can’t get him close enough.

Chan’s movements are frantic, his small hands everywhere on Soonyoung’s body, pulling at his clothes, his hair, bringing him in to Chan.

Soonyoung pulls his shirt off over his head with shaky hands, then does the same for Chan, who lifts his arms helpfully, before wrapping them back around Soonyoung’s neck.

Another burst of lightning illuminates the room, and Soonyoung looks around just long enough to notice that they are alone. There is no ghost at the window, no shadowy forms or faces hanging in the air. There’s just Chan.

Most of the time, Soonyoung’s power is scattered, frantic, kinetic energy that buzzes out from him in all directions. But right now he’s practically fucking meditating, his mind centered on Chan’s skin under his hands, on his lips against Soonyoung’s.

It clicks.

“ _You’re my lightning rod_ ,” Soonyoung says with awe, and Chan chuckles against his mouth.

He preps Chan and pushes inside him while the thunder rattles on outside. Chan makes this fucking sinful noise in his ear and then says his name, over and over. Soonyoung loses himself in it, heat building inside him as he buries himself in Chan. Just Chan.

Soonyoung sits back on his heels, lifts Chan by his lower back, adjusting them so Chan’s spread out in his lap, his slim waist, his ribcage rising and falling with his frantic breaths. Soonyoung tugs him closer by his hips, pushing his cock further inside of Chan. Chan squirms, gasping, his pink lips parting slightly. 

He’s fucking gorgeous, this boy that is the only thing that Soonyoung has ever wanted. 

“I -,” Soonyoung pants desperately, sweat beading on his chest, slipping down his spine, “Chan. Chan, I love-” 

“I know,” Chan says, reaching for him, “It’s okay, I know.”

Soonyoung keens high in his throat, covers Chan’s body with his own and fucks him until they’re both coming, sudden and messy, one after the other, a chain reaction.

Soonyoung can’t let go of him after that, lies back down on his bed and pulls Chan on top of him, pressing kisses to his slack mouth while Chan giggles and tries to kiss him back lazily. 

Soonyoung feels relieved of some heavy weight he’s been bringing with him as long as he can remember. His eyes keep fluttering shut, and Chan keeps laughing at him.

“Hey,” Chan whispers, patting Soonyoung’s cheek gently. (He can do that now, he can just _do that_ now), “Before you fall asleep.”

Soonyoung forces his eyes open for another few seconds. Chan grins.

“Me too,” he says, and Soonyoung cocks his head in sleepy confusion, “What you said. Me too. Kind of always.”

* * *

When Soonyoung wakes up its pouring, straight down against the roof, and Chan is cross-legged at the foot of his bed, dressed again. Soonyoung’s head hurts a little less, and he’s thinking a little more clearly.

“Hey,” he rasps.

“Hey,” Chan responds, and _yes_ , ghosts can blush, “It stopped working while you were asleep. I was. Um. Not solid. Again.”

“Oh shit,” Soonyoung says, getting up, “I’m so sorry Chan,”

“It’s okay,” Chan says, “After we save the world you can practice more. You’re a lot stronger than I thought you were.”

“Oh,” Soonyoung says, finding his underwear and pulling them on, “Thanks?”

“We should tell them,” Chan says, watching as Soonyoung gets dressed. Soonyoung rolls his eyes, but he knows Chan is right.

Soonyoung goes down the stairs to the kitchen carefully, Chan three steps behind him like always. His stomach is twisted in knots. There’s still the chance that all of this is in his head. Still the chance that Chan is just dead and Soonyoung is just crazy.

But if Vernon’s right, they’ll all be dead in less than twenty-four hours anyway, so who cares?

Soonyoung pauses outside of where the kitchen light is falling into the hallway. He takes a deep breath, glances back at Chan, who gives him a cute, sarcastic little thumbs up. Soonyoung smiles. He steps into the light.

“Okay, okay,” he says pompously, strolling into the center of the room, “Everyone can stop worrying now. I’m here.”

“Great,” Jihoon says, flatly.

“Shhh, Hoonie,” Soonyoung says with an exaggerated pout, “Don’t cry. I know you’re happy to see me.”

“What do you want, Soonyoung?” Sana asks, taking her glasses off and putting them on top of her head. She looks like she hasn’t slept in a few days.

Soonyoung grins gleefully. He turns back to Chan.

“Ready?”

Chan nods. Soonyoung faces the rest of the family, who all are looking at him like he’s completely lost his mind. Well.

He closes his eyes. In his mind, he visualizes reaching out behind him, taking Chan’s hand and _pulling._

He hears Seungcheol first, his voice high and wavering,

“ _Chan?”_


End file.
